on the concrete floor and his temper hadn’t improved much. He had to keep reminding himself why he was doing this. For Grandpa.
Sunday was a relaxing day. He and Grandpa walked around the yard, making a few plans, reminding Brian again of why he was putting on a fancy apron come Monday. Next weekend they were going to Concordia to move his stuff back here.
When he arrived at the job Monday morning, Melissa wasn’t working at the large butcher block counter, nor was she in her office. He followed the sound of a machine and found her in the back of the bakery twisting a bag of bread and clipping it shut.
She started when he came in. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the machine.
“Bread slicer.”
“How does it work?”
She frowned at him as she set the bagged bread on a large rack already holding a number of loaves and plucked another unsliced loaf from the rack on the other side. “I guess you could learn how to run this,” she said as she dropped it into a slot on the top of the machine. It wasn’t too hard to hear the reluctance in her voice.
Control freak, he thought again.
“I guess I could,” he returned. “Not much happening right now.”
She shot him a frown, as if she wasn’t sure what to make of his comment, then, to his surprise, stepped aside. “You set the bread here, push this button, wait until it comes into this chute and slip a bag over top. Hit the release button and then twist the top and put a clip on.”
Brian followed her instructions, the noise of the machine precluding any other conversation, crumbs flying from the blades cutting the bread. A few seconds later he had a bag of bread closed off and ready to put on the rack.
“Good,” she said, sounding surprised that he had caught on so quickly. “That’s good.”
“I’ll do the rest,” he said, setting the loaf on the rack and grabbing another one. “You go bake some petty fours.”
She looked like she was about to protest, then with a shrug, she turned, leaving him to his job.
The work was tedious, but it kept him busy and soon he had all the loaves done and was wheeling the full rack to the front of the bakery.
As he set the loaves neatly on the shelves, the door opened again and their first customers of the day stepped into the bakery. Brian turned to see a young woman and little girl enter. He tried not to flush as he recognized Lexi Ross, a girl he had dated in high school. Her long blond hair, green eyes and narrow features had made her the darling of Bygones and the epitome of Midwest wholesomeness. Now she and her husband, Wilson Ross, lived with their three children in a two-story Victorian off Granary Road.
Lexi gave him an awkward smile as she glanced from him to his apron to the loaf of bread he still held. How the mighty have fallen, he thought, remembering how he used to tell her he would one day be his own boss, run his own business.
“What can I help you with?” he asked, unable to keep the gruff note out of his voice.
Treena Ross, six years old, her short blond hair like dandelion fluff around her round face, looked up at him, then back at her mother. Her lower lip quivered and her green eyes welled up with tears. “He scares me, mom,” she said. “Why is that big man working here?”
Lexi gave Brian an apologetic grin, then crouched beside her daughter, her full skirt brushing the floor. Her hair fell over her face as she bent her head toward her daughter, lowering her voice to assure her. “He’s a nice man. That’s Mr. Montclair. You saw him yesterday at our church, remember? Now why don’t you ask Mr. Montclair what you came here to do?”
Treena sniffed, palmed her tears off her cheek then held up a piece of paper. “Can you sign my perdition?” she asked in a small voice. “I want the school to stay open so I can go there. Like my mommy and daddy did.”
Brian frowned as he took the paper from the little girl. “What do you mean, stay open?”
Lexi brushed Treena’s hair away from her face and gave Brian a despondent look. “We got a letter from the county school board saying she and her brother, Phil, will be bussed to Concordia School, over an hour away, when school starts. They are thinking of closing down the school here in Bygones.”
“Close down the school? Why?”
“Budget cutbacks,” Lexi said. “They don’t think they have enough money to keep it open this year.”
Brian fought his frustration and anger. What was happening to his town? Why were things going so badly?
He looked at the little girl, trying to imagine her sitting on a bus for more than an hour instead of walking to school like so many children in Bygones did. As a kid he used to take the school bus, but in the summertime he and his sisters would bike from their home on the edge of town, enjoying the freedom of their own transportation.
“I’ll sign your petition, Treena.” He pushed himself to his feet and pulled a pen out of a jar sitting by the cash register. He scribbled his signature, then handed the paper back to Treena. “I hope the school doesn’t get closed down. Let me know what happens, Lexi,” he said as he straightened.
“What’s going on?”
Melissa stood behind him, a frown puckering her forehead, her arms folded over her chest.
And why was she frowning at him now?
“Lexi and Treena wanted me to sign a petition but I’ll get right back to work,” he said with a hint of asperity. Before she could say anything he grabbed the empty bread rack and pushed it, wheels squeaking in protest, to the back to finish his job.
* * *
Melissa watched Brian go, biting back a sigh. His second day on the job and he still exuded resentment. This was not going well. Saturday she had hoped to talk to Dale Eversleigh about helping her with another list of prospective employees and then Brian came walking into the bakery. For a moment she had been tempted to rescind her job offer, but she didn’t dare. She was the newcomer to Bygones and the SOS Committee held the strings and dictated the terms of her loan.
So she had, very reluctantly, hired him. And, it seemed, he was just as reluctant to work here, which made her wonder why he took the job.
She wasn’t sure whether she needed to talk to him about his attitude or wait and see if it changed. At least he knew how to work. She was still surprised he had cleaned up the front so well on Saturday and was willing to learn how to bag bread today.
As she turned her attention back to the little girl named Treena, she thought of how kind Brian had been to her. He was a puzzling study in contrasts, that’s for sure.
“What did Mr. Montclair mean when he said he hoped the school didn’t close down?” she asked.
Treena held up her paper again. “I have a perdition here—”
“Petition,” Lexi corrected as Melissa stifled a quick smile.
“Petition,” the little girl corrected. “I thought people in town could help me and sign my paper. Maybe I could give it to the school board and they would change their mind.”
Melissa glanced at Lexi, who gave her a “what can I do?” smile. “It was her idea so I said I would accompany her to the various businesses. It can’t hurt.”
“Of course I’ll sign,” Melissa said. As she added her name and signature to the paper, she noticed Brian’s above hers. His writing was a large, dark scrawl.
Not unlike the man himself, she thought, giving the girl her paper back. “I hope that helps,” she said with a rueful look.
Lexi placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “I do, too. A six-year-old shouldn’t have to sit on the bus for over an hour to get to school.” She gave Melissa a quick smile, then glanced over at the display case. “While we’re here, I’d like